The Valentino Affair (19 page)

“Where’s The Box?” he shouted at the driver.

James Donner, curled up on his seat, was smoking a cigarette. “I don’t know. There’s a couple of ladies at a house up there—maybe that’s it.”
²⁴

At that moment a man appeared some way down the road, shouting and gesticulating toward them. Seaman accelerated toward him and followed the road around until he reached a large, brightly lit house. As he braked to a standstill, a glance at the property told him that these were obviously rich and probably influential people. A thread of unease wriggled in his stomach. Despite a lifetime in law enforcement—mainly as a detective—the bespectacled and mustachioed fifty-two-year-old sheriff of Nassau County had only been elected seven months previously; he needed to tread carefully. Alongside him was Constable Thorne, who earlier that day had taken Blanca’s baffling call about the alleged garage break-in. Together, the two men marched in through the open front door.

They arrived at around 9:00 p.m. In the living room, Seaman saw de Saulles, prostrate on the couch, being attended by Sword and various family members.

“Who shot him?” he asked.

Jack’s ex-wife, someone said.

“Where is she?”
²⁵

The family members exchanged bemused shrugs. In all the confusion Blanca’s exit had gone unnoticed. Then someone recalled seeing her leave the house. Seaman’s nerves began to twitch. An hour past sundown, tracking a fleeing suspect in these woods, in this light, would be a hellish ordeal. He ordered Thorne to take one side of the house, while he went around the other. But his fears were baseless: Far from fleeing the scene, Blanca was waiting calmly in the front garden, still sitting by the hedge, still in the company of her stunned maid, Suzanne. Seaman called for Thorne and then approached Blanca cautiously. “Are you Mrs. de Saulles?”

“I am. Are you an officer?”

Seaman replied that he was, and Blanca said quietly, “I suppose I’ve to go with you, then.”
²⁶

“Yes, and I want the revolver you used.”

“You will find it in the hall on the hat stand.”
²⁷

Seaman nodded to Thorne, who backtracked into the house and located the gun where Blanca said she had left it, on the stand, between some hats and bags of golf clubs. He checked the chamber: five empty shell casings.

The roar of another combustion engine announced the arrival of the ambulance. The medics made Jack de Saulles as comfortable as possible and then stretchered him outside. Clutching the bag of spare clothing, Ward insisted on riding in the back of the ambulance so that he might comfort his injured friend.

Seaman tried to get a handle on what had happened. He took brief statements from the eyewitnesses, most of whom were reeling in a stupefied state of shock—although everyone agreed that it was Blanca who had pulled the trigger. These were the embryonic days of forensic investigation and the sheriff made no attempt to seal the crime scene or preserve evidence. Besides, it all looked open and shut. Instead, he busied himself with taking Blanca into custody as soon as possible. Suzanne, too. Good chance she might have been an accomplice. It was a very gentlemanly arrest: Neither woman was handcuffed. Seaman guided them gently to his automobile. Both got in the backseat while Thorne joined his boss in the front. Seaman then took the wheel and they drove off.

At the end of the driveway, they came upon Donner, still smoking and still waiting patiently for his fare. By this time the meter had ticked round to four dollars. Blanca asked Seaman to stop and coolly motioned the chauffeur toward her. “Take good care of the dog,” she said. “Drive to Roslyn and see my maid, Louise, and she will pay you for the trip.”
²⁸
She added that she hadn’t forgotten the promised dollar tip and that Donner should ask Louise for this also.

Seaman watched this exchange with open astonishment. Never had he seen a murder suspect act in so poised a manner. She exhibited no hint of panic and certainly no remorse, just the calm, imperious manner of someone used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question. Shaking his head, Seaman let in the clutch and pulled away.

Donner tipped his cap, watched them go, climbed back into the car, and retraced his journey to Crossways. When he arrived he handed the dog to Louise and explained what had happened. After giving Donner his fare and the dollar tip, Louise, incredulous, decided against waking the rest of the household. She knew that the butler, Noe Tagliabue, had waited until his usual bedtime and then cleared the table and retired not in the best of humors. As the head of staff he wouldn’t appreciate being awoken at this late hour, as even in such extremis, the hierarchical proprieties needed to be observed. As a consequence, Tagliabue did not hear of the shooting until the next morning.

A few miles to the south, at the Nassau Hospital (now Winthrop-University Hospital), doctors were working feverishly on Jack’s injuries. As they cut away layers of clothing and the full extent of the bullet wounds became apparent, Marshall Ward saw the physicians exchange anxious expressions. One of them shot Ward a grim look and shook his head, murmuring that Jack wouldn’t live “fifteen minutes.”
²⁹
Despite this dire prognosis, Jack was prepped for surgery. At one point, according to Ward, Jack briefly regained consciousness on the operating table, opened his eyes, and whispered, “My wife shot me. I want you to have her arrested. She shot me.”
³⁰

If true—and there was much about Ward’s evidence that would raise doubts about his credibility—these were the last words Jack de Saulles ever spoke. At 10:20 p.m. surgeons gave up the struggle and pronounced him dead. He was thirty-nine years old.

In the meantime, oblivious to this development, Seaman continued his odyssey through the dark countryside. By now it was pitch black. During the course of this journey, Blanca began opening up to the sheriff, revealing the full extent of her animosity toward her ex-husband: “I shot him because he wouldn’t give me my boy, and I hope he dies.”
³¹
Seaman didn’t say much, just listened.

Instead of driving directly to the Mineola jail, he took a detour south to the Hempstead Town Hall. Ordinarily, Seaman would have thrown his prisoners into the slammer and worried about the paperwork later, but this was no run-of-the-mill domestic tragedy. He needed to ensure that everything was done by the book. Justice of the Peace Walter R. Jones absorbed Seaman’s retelling of the night’s events. Like the sheriff, he was struck by Blanca’s bored indifference and lack of remorse, and it didn’t surprise him one whit when Seaman repeated her earlier remark about wanting de Saulles dead. He drew up an affidavit charging Blanca with felonious assault, which Thorne then signed. At the same time, Jones ordered Suzanne to be held as a material witness and set bail in the amount of one thousand dollars.

Formalities complete, Seaman marched his two prisoners back to the car. He was just about to drive off when Jones shouted for him to stop. A phone call had just come through from the hospital, he explained, and this changed everything. Seaman ordered his prisoners back into the town hall, where Jones addressed Blanca. “Madam, your wish is gratified; your husband is dead.”

“Ah, I’m so sorry,”
³²
Blanca replied, though to judge from her expression she was far from heartbroken. According to Seaman, “You might have thought, so far as she was concerned, that there was a party going on.”
³³

On the strength of this development, Jones drew up a fresh affidavit, this time charging Blanca with murder in the first degree. With the revised paperwork in hand, Seaman took Blanca and Suzanne back out to his car. As they exited Hempstead, Blanca said to no one in particular: “Will they electrocute me right away?”
³⁴

All she got in reply was silence.

The bizarre journey continued. A short while later Blanca spotted a late-night roadside stand selling groceries.

“Stop!” she cried.

Seaman slammed on the brakes. Blanca then shouted for the vendor to bring her a bottle of milk. Once again sheriff and deputy exchanged disbelieving looks. When the milk arrived, Blanca handed over some money and told the seller to keep the change. Then, like some child sipping a bedtime drink, she settled down for the rest of the trip. Another strange interlude on this strangest of nights came when the vehicle chanced to stop near a graveyard. Blanca burst into fits of laughter. “How gruesome that we should stop at such a place at this time,”
³⁵
she chortled. She was still chuckling when the automobile reached the Mineola jail.

Seaman led his prisoners to the north wing and up to the second floor. Blanca glanced about her at the barred cages and giggled that the place looked “like a zoo.”
³⁶
Her gaze lingered on a clothesline draped along the corridor. Seaman made a mental note to remove the potentially dangerous item. He placed Blanca and Suzanne in adjoining cells, two away from the cell that had housed Florence Carman. Because of Blanca’s erratic behavior, Seaman had her examined medically that same night. He contacted the county physician, Dr. Guy Cleghorn. After a brief examination, Cleghorn recorded his conclusion: “Sheriff Seaman: On account of the extreme nervousness and mental condition of Mrs. Blanca De Saulles it would be unwise to confine her to a cell for her own safety. Guy Cleghorn.”
³⁷
Seaman promised to consider the suggestion.

Events would prove that the sheriff held some highly unorthodox views on incarceration, and throughout her time in the jailhouse Blanca would be treated more like a hotel guest than a prisoner.
³⁸
Right from the outset Seaman gave her the run of the jail, and later that night she made a string of phone calls. One was to Murray Hill 7600, the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Manhattan. She spoke to Jack’s wealthy cousin, the art collector Captain Philip M. Lydig, and it soon became clear that the prisoner was tetchy in the extreme. Listeners who overheard portions of the conversation were able to piece together the gist: “I am in Mineola Jail. . . . For shooting Jack. . . . Because he wouldn’t give me my boy.”

The voice on the other end of the line was heard to repeatedly say, “My God! My God!”

After a minute or two, Blanca’s eyes flashed angrily. “
My God! My God!
” she mimicked. “That’s what they all say. Such talk makes me sick.”
³⁹
With this she slammed the receiver down onto the cradle and stalked off to her cell, leaving word that she would see no one except a representative of Uterhart & Graham, a high-powered law firm with offices in Manhattan and Hempstead. (One of Blanca’s earlier calls had been to a lawyer friend, Frederic R. Coudert, and he had recommended the firm that had secured Florence Carman’s acquittal.) However, the first lawyer on the scene was Leon Prince, who had represented Blanca during the divorce action. He arrived at the jail during the night and sent a note to her, but she had already decided on counsel and sent him packing.

During the remainder of that night, Blanca’s biggest concern was reserved for Suzanne Monteau. She couldn’t understand why her maid was being held in custody, and she offered to post bail for the terrified and wholly blameless young woman. For some reason the request was refused. Wearily, Blanca made her apologies to the distraught Suzanne, then settled down on her bed and fell into a deep sleep.

NINE

Let the Battle Commence

T
HE NEXT MORNING
B
LANCA ROSE AT TEN O’CLOCK,
AND DAYLIGHT GAVE
her a chance to familiarize herself with her surroundings. Her cell window overlooked the jail’s graveled courtyard and an ivy-covered wall that was home to some nesting doves. Apart from that there was not much to see.

Beyond the wall it was a different story. News of the shooting had gotten around fast and already the streets encircling the jail were jammed with a constant stream of automobiles, from Chevrolets and Fords all the way up to gleaming roadsters. Every occupant, it seemed, was straining to catch a glimpse of the celebrity inmate. None succeeded.